


Icarus

by MusicalDefiance



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drama, Fear, Gen, Hiding in Plain Sight, Light Angst, Persona 5 Spoilers, an ultimate lack of self preservation skills, and inevitably get more ramen noodle cups, just so you can go out, that you risk being shot on sight, unfortunate encounter, when you just get so damn tired of eating ramen cups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalDefiance/pseuds/MusicalDefiance
Summary: "When he pauses to see it more properly, even twenty feet away he recognizes that black A with a circular shape around it anywhere."





	Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> A fic based on a very real fear I had while playing the endgame of Persona 5. Hope you enjoy it!

It only takes about two weeks before Akira can’t take it anymore.

Day in and day out he’s bored and losing his mind. His eating habits are out of control, either eating every snack and ramen cup he can get his hands on or refusing to come downstairs for dinner despite how many times Sojiro calls for him. His nails are dull and sore; he bites them off any time they get close to growing back, whether out of boredom or from his nerves raking at his mind. He’s played and beaten every game he has, watched every DVD he has on hand, and there’s really nothing for him to do online except whittle his mind away watching videos or reading about how everyone in the world hates him— how they’re all glad he’s dead.

He’d have time to be mad about it if the whole “being stuck in the attic” thing wasn’t frustrating him first.

It doesn’t matter anymore if the plan went well and that things are going smoothly for the team. Akira’s going  _ insane _ . The attic is his prison now, more of one than any detention center or interrogation room in Shibuya could ever make him feel. Except now he’s his own captor, forcing himself to stay put for both his and his friends’ safety while they carry out their last means of business, but it hopefully shouldn’t last too much longer. Once the palace is taken down and the change of heart is ensured, he’ll be free to do whatever he wants or needs— he’ll be free in general. But none of that can happen until the palace is gone.

Masayoshi Shido is their first and most impending priority.

But maybe that’s what’s got him clawing at his own cage, begging to be released despite the fact that no one is there holding the key. They’re so close,  _ so close _ , but he still can’t live his life like normal because he can’t take the risks. So he has to behave, has to stay put so that Shido doesn’t get a leg up on them, and the last thing he’s willing to do is let that bastard take him out. 

He’s the only one keeping himself there, though, and he hates it. _He_ _hates it,_ so much that he could _yell_.

Life in Tokyo is bustling and moving all the time, but not when you’re alone every day. Not when the only voices you hear are an equally bored cat and the quiet chatter of strangers downstairs. His friends can only come by so often, they still have lives to live and school to attend. His personal wellbeing can’t be their priority and he would never ask that of them anyways; he’d already taken up enough of their time when he’d come back home broken and battered and would never forgive himself for how much of it he wasted.

It’s all mind numbing and draining in more ways than one, like a state of solitary confinement with way more comforts than the normal concept would allow, but that doesn’t make it any less of a prison. Never in Akira Kurusu’s life would he have thought that he’d miss  _ school  _ of all things.

And so maybe that’s what has him suddenly throwing himself down the stairs with rushed promises of returning, Morgana yelping in protest all the way as he leaves him behind, throwing up his hood and bolting out the door before Sojiro even gets a chance to question him. He can’t do it, can’t stay up in that dusty empty room for one more second. He has to escape, has to go around and find  _ something  _ to do before he goes absolutely insane. It’s just too much to bear anymore.

The second he’s outside he knows it’s an immediate risk. There's danger looming in every dark corner and every alleyway that he can’t see far down enough. Even in the spaces lit as can be there’s a looming threat, because the police have eyes everywhere in both numbers and cameras dotting the city; like this he could be spotted in an instant. If someone was looking hard and close enough, they would be able to see that it’s him and take him down without even trying.

Luckily for him, he knows how to play a good game of hide ‘n seek. He can’t move as quick or fluidly in the real world as he can in the Metaverse, especially not with his still present wounds, but it’s enough to keep himself out of most peoples’ vision. He’s ready to play this game as long as he has to, if for nothing else than to at least let him breathe some air that isn’t permeated with the smell of coffee, something that was once a treat to him but now only feels like a pain.

It’s only when he gets to the subway that he first feels like hesitating. It’s so bright down there, regardless of it being underground. In the evening past rush hour the traffic isn’t so bad, but there’s still enough people in the station to make him sweat. Even so, he gulps his worries down and musters up the courage to go inside. He can’t look  _ that  _ suspicious like this. He’s far from the only one wearing a hood, it’s plenty cold outside.

No one looks at him on the train.

No one even gives him a second glance, and it fuels his slow building ego like fire. He winces as people push against him, still trying his best to mind the fact that he has bruises underneath his hoodie that are sensitive and far from healed, but even when they do they don’t bother apologizing, like he doesn't exist.

Normally he’d be bothered by the apathy, but in this moment, it’s a thrill. The confidence in him rises slow and steadily like a pot that’s working to boil over.

He explores the city tonight like it’s the first time— he has to, he needs that satisfaction. Needs to be able to feel the excitement of having the world at his fingertips again, and that’s honestly how it feels. Being camped away in the same spot on the same bed with the same set of circumstances every day is more exhausting than one would think, so it’s kind of incredible to just be…  _ free. _ Even if it’s only for a limited amount of time.

He walks through the park and oogles at Christmas lights, spends a moment at the Meiji Shrine to clear his thoughts, and takes his time walking across pathways and quiet roads. It’s tranquil and soothing to his hardened edges, leaching some of his stress away to let him breathe at least a touch easier. He never knew how much he missed the quiet distant murmur of Shibuya until he couldn’t experience it daily like he’s been so used to.

He tries to be productive on his journey too. He goes to the convenience store and stocks up on snacks that he hadn’t been able to refill (and didn’t want to ask Sojiro for more), checks out the video game store and grabs a game or two that he hasn’t played, and manages to find a book that he’s had some interest in. There’s even a manga stand in one of the subway stations, and he takes his time rifling through the selections, finding ones that he knows Ryuji would love for him to read. Every exchange with a store clerk makes him nervous, but they never seem to care about him, and each transaction is as easy as it would be if he didn’t have his own death hanging over him.

It’s all a dangerous act, but mostly in the fact that he knows he’s getting away with it.

No one looks him over more than once, hardly gives him half a glance even. He’s just being a normal teenager walking the streets at night after all, and the more he gets cast aside for whatever focus the surrounding crowd has, the more it makes him cocky. It’s incredibly liberating.

The only point that makes him falter is when he’s in the Big Bang Burger. It’s 9 PM and he’s hungry, he can’t help that at all, and the last thing he’s about to do is have another depressing cup of instant noodles in his room while Morgana scolds him relentlessly for what he’s done. Not tonight— if he’s going out, he’s going all the way and making this as full an experience as he can.

He might have gone for something more expensive or enticing, but sitting or standing for long in a restaurant is a bit more of a risk than he’s willing to take— good thieves are smart, not brash. Instead he waits in line in the fast food place, eyes set on the menu so he’s not looking at anyone or anything in particular, his order rehearsing in his head over and over like a record player. Just when he’s nearing the front of the line though, he can see two police officers entering through the electric doors behind him, conversing casually and shimmying to their place in line with only a young woman between them.

He’s not panicking, he has no reason to, but he’s certainly uncomfortable with their proximity. Even so, they have no reason to suspect him yet, and he’s going to go about his business and enjoy his night even if it kills him, quite literally. Besides, if he really had to, he could probably take them, couldn’t he?

He doesn’t know how smart of an idea that is, but he’s ready to do it anyways if he needs to.

When he makes his way to the counter the exchange goes as perfectly well as the rest, feeling satisfied again that the overly cheery counter girl didn’t even give him a second thought. As soon as he grabs his food and places the money in her hand, he’s turning and keeping his focus ahead, making sure to keep his hood pulled well over his head and some over his face, trying to play it off like he’s preparing for the wet chilled air of the outside.

They don’t even look at him. Akira is over the moon.

He takes it a little farther just for fun and sits on a bench just outside of Shibuya Station while he eats his meal. It’s plain and boring in a sense, certainly not anything he hasn’t eaten before, but the fact that he managed to squeeze past the public eye to get it makes it taste  _ immensely  _ more satisfying. All the while he people watches behind the lenses of his glasses, half of him keeping watch for people giving him the eye, but mostly just to watch how oblivious everyone is. How much would the public freak out if they knew the “incredibly dangerous” leader of the Phantom Thieves was sitting only three feet away from them? It puts a Joker-esque smirk on his face that he can’t be bothered to hide.

Makoto would yell at him for even thinking about something like that as an accomplishment. He couldn’t care less.

When Akira walks down the stairs to the train station across the plaza, it isn’t as busy as it was earlier in the evening, but it’s still crowded, and he supposes that can’t be helped. It’s both relieving and unsettling at the same time, but he figures that if he managed to make it this far into the night without getting into any trouble, this is the furthest from it that he could be now.

The high isn’t ending and a piece of him wants to go out for more, but he does knows when to cut his losses. He’s already been gone well over an hour at this point, far longer than he’d promised Morgana before just flinging himself out the door like he’d escaped Hell— maybe he had, but he knows that’s no one’s fault but his own, and he’d have no choice but to return. As much as he wants to relish in the freedom, he knows his cell door is open and waiting.

The fun is over, but it doesn’t matter because he’s feeling  _ so good  _ again, better than he has in days. It’s rejuvinating to say the least, his mind feeling so newly refreshed and awakened from his stale state, like he’s just dusted himself off after being trapped on a high shelf for years.

He’ll have to do this again, soon, and now he knows he can. To Shibuya, Akira Kurusu is no more. The city sleeps soundly at night without fear of his phantom remains lurking in the shadows, and if they keep up with that cognition, he won’t mind.

With the subdued crowd, he lets his guard down. His hood stays up and his glasses remain firmly planted on the bridge of his nose, but he walks more casually. He slumps less, eyes looking forward with a firm sense of direction instead of looking to the floor and letting himself blend seamlessly into the surrounding bulk of people around him. He’s self assured and cocky, feeling so giddy with his success that he almost wishes he could just break out into sporadic laughter and sprint the rest of his way home.

It’s just so nice to feel  _ tired  _ again, and he can’t believe he’s thinking something so ridiculous. But this kind of tired is different— it’s not the heavy and suffocating weight of exhaustion that has him chained to his bed day and night while he sits in the attic and mindlessly scrolls through his phone. It’s one that makes him actually look forward to sleep, letting him walk into the next day head on without a shred of regret and doubt. 

Morgana’s going to be irritated with him, but he doesn’t even care. Everything about this is so damn worth it.

The transfer to Yongen-Jaya is in his sights, and he may as well have his own victory theme playing in the background as he heads that way. He has new things to do now, feels the comforting pressure of them in the plastic bags that hang loosely in his hand, and that will at least make his self-instituted sentence a bit more manageable. He’s hoping that maybe Futaba will humor him with one of his new games, maybe even Ryuji if he has some time to spare after school. He has some new mangas too, one of which is a series he know Ryuji was just  _ dying  _ for him to pick up. But even if they can’t, at least he has new things to focus on and a new attitude to focus on them with.

Who knew he could float so well while he’s six-hundred feet under water?

As he makes his way across the tiled floor, lost in his own success, he manages to bump the arm of someone walking next to him. He apologizes once, but the man walks off without a reply, except for maybe a grumble under his breath. Akira frowns, his head instinctively turning back to look at him as if he was going to bother giving him a glance back.

Out of the corner of his eye while he turns, he spots something.

It’s quick, something just outside his peripheral vision, but it’s enough to catch his attention. It’s a piece of metal he recognizes, something silver with a symbol etched onto the front of it. It shines in the bright lights of the subway that try to make up for the darkness looming outside. Normally it wouldn’t bother him at all, but there’s something particular about it that has him stopping in his tracks when he sees it.

When he pauses to see it more properly, even twenty feet away he recognizes that black A with a circular shape around it  _ anywhere _ .

Fight or flight instinct wants to kick in immediately, but somehow he’s instantly frozen.

It’s not possible. He was  _ so damn careful _ and had been able to avoid even the sharpest of gazes the whole night, yet upon noticing this his brain freezes up, like he’s lost all sense of control or what to do.

_ Go you idiot,  _ **_go!_ ** his brain screams.

But as he’s trying to duck and run, his muscles moving to flail his body in the opposite direction regardless of the scene it’ll make, his eyes betray him. They’re plastered to that symbol, plastered to the suitcase and the gloved hand that carries it, and they keep inching up farther and farther in what feels like minutes rather than the milliseconds they actually occur in.

Inching all the way up until he can see the garnet colored irises of the detective that made an attempt on his life a little over two weeks ago.

He hasn’t noticed Akira, looking off and towards the stairs like he’s about to make his way up them, and that’s the only solace he has in this moment. There’s still time for him to escape, time for him to book it and slip back into the shadows that he’d clearly just now taken for granted, yet he just  _ can’t _ . He’s enraptured by the sight of him, struck down by just how impossibly unlikely the chance for him to be within even a mile of Goro Akechi is, and yet there he is across the hallway, looking like he belongs there. The exact opposite of Akira right now.

His mind is overwhelmed in an instant, so many of his thoughts just begging for escape, while the others are all obsessed with the hows and whys like they matter. Why here, why now? How did he not notice, how could he have gotten so careless?

Run, run,  _ run,  _ **_run!_ **

Just as he’s about to gain his senses back, right as he’s about to bolt the other way (transfer be damned, he can always come back later), he’s stopped when another person not minding their way bumps into him. It’s harder this time, one that sends his already off balance position teetering and his bags nearly dropping to the floor. He’s quick to correct it, momentarily thankful for his gained reflexes, but he can’t help the grunt that leaves his throat or the touseling of the plastic bags when the impact comes. His balance comes back to him only a second later, but as he’s righting himself his eyes look up again at the face of danger like it’s a piece of treasure for him to pilfer.

And then they look directly into it, because Akechi’s staring straight at him.

His heart is wrenched into his throat, time seemingly stopping all around him as the world turns icy and shrouds him in its merciless embrace. There’s no escape from it though, their eyes are locked, and the detective’s bore straight into his soul as though he’s being judged upon by god himself. They’re largely emotionless, perhaps a little surprised, but other than that are a blank slate. It’s like even though he’s noticed him now he’s still calculating and questioning, and Akira can do nothing more than just stare back and hope that he shakes it off and goes away, that this  _ intense gaze _ goes away.

But it doesn’t— it feels like it never does.

Akechi’s tilting his head, and Akira straightens himself up in response. It’s the only thing he can think to do when he’s caught under fire. In the Metaverse he’s been snuck up on and overpowered too many times to count, and he normally knows how to react, but this is arguably so much worse. He’s now a kitten caught in a storm, a deer in headlights with no means of escape.

Well, he could run like he’s been screaming at himself to do, but will that do any good at this point?

There’s so much distance between them, and yet every second that passes makes him feel like it’s closing in on him. Every breath he takes only inches their bodies closer, all the people around them vanishing into thin air until there’s nothing left between or around them. Suddenly the room has become angry darkened shades of red and grey, and the only thing occupying it is him and Goro Akechi.

Scenarios run through his mind at flashing speeds. Akechi has so many options to take, so many choices he can make in this moment, and Akira isn’t sure if he can beat or even scope them all out before it’s too late. If he calls the police, he can run, but how fast would they be there to catch him? Getting on the train would be suicide— even if he made it there they would be waiting for him by the time he got off. The station itself is also crawling with them, just as well as the outside is considering all the election hype buzzing through the city. He’d likely be cornered in seconds, and considering how much his body aches at the moment, fighting his way through them may not be much of an option, regardless of how much he doesn’t want to admit it.

Would Akechi try to take him down himself? He’s a detective, it isn’t like he doesn’t have handcuffs or the means to make an arrest. Is that really his style though? Akira doesn’t think he would ever go out of his way to make such a scene, but maybe in this instance he would. He can outrun Akechi though— he’s worked with him as a Phantom Thief and seen how he moves, he’s athletic but Akira may just have him beat

Does he have a gun though? Akira hates that he’s even asked himself that question, but it’s just as probable as anything else no matter how much it fills him with dread.

No matter how fast he runs, he can’t outrun a bullet.

Time feels like it keeps rolling by, and yet doesn’t feel like it’s passing at all. Garnet eyes burn into grey ones with unrelenting fire, and Akira’s just waiting for him to move— to breathe, to do  _ something  _ while he stands there with nowhere to go until he sees a cue that’ll tell him what move he should make.

When he finally does move though, Akira’s not sure what he’s supposed to do.

Akechi does nothing initially— doesn’t reach for something in his pocket, doesn’t yell for Akira to stop right where he is, doesn’t even make a move towards him at all. Akira watches with shaking hands as his feet stay planted right where they are, expecting Akechi to do any of what he might have thought, waiting with an almost sickening eagerness for the detective to show him which way he should run.

But Akechi doesn’t do any of those things. All he does is smile.

To any normal person, it wouldn’t be alarming. People smile all the time, and if Akira hates to admit anything, it’s that Goro Akechi has a rather nice one to his name. It’s charming and pleasant, one that sends teenage girls whooping and hollering when he’s on TV and gets adults commenting on how much of a “nice young man” he seems to be. 

There’s no malice, no cruelty, not even a hint of the evil smile he sees in his dreams that he can never quite place the memory of. Instead it’s just kind and pleasant, like a friend smiling to another in recognition. It’s so casual Akira half expects him to wave.

That’s probably the worst thing about it though, and makes it far scarier than anything he could have been granted— if he knows anything about Goro Akechi, it’s that he’s an  _ incredible  _ fake.

Just as soon as his smile was there, it’s turning and leaving him, and Akechi is moving, not towards him but away instead, down the lit hallway to his side rather than the stairs he had been eyeing. His eyes stay locked with Akira’s all the while, but as soon as he’s completely turned he’s already walking away, just as easily as though he had seen nothing of interest in front of him. Everything about his posture is carefree and nonchalant as can be, like all is well and nothing matters at all.

Akira doesn’t stop watching, doesn’t move from his place, even while Akechi’s still moving away, so far down the hallway that he can barely see him anymore. He can’t stop, can’t let him out of his sights, because he has no idea if he’s going to stop, turn around, and take him down like he was so sure he would. He doesn’t though, even as he gets farther away, and it starts to itch nagging curiosity into the back of Akira’s mind.

How in the world is he being so calm about this? Does he not care?

But when Akechi gets to a corner down the hallway and makes a left turn, Akira notices that his hand goes up to place something against his head. He has no idea what it is, but he can take a strong guess that it’s probably his phone. His heart drops into the center of the earth as soon as he notices it, and just like that he’s unfrozen, taking out his own and frantically typing against the keyboard as soon as those brown locks disappear from his view.

It’s his fault, and it’s late, but there’s nothing else he can do. The Phantom Thieves will be having an impromptu palace run this evening— unless he wants to give them all a chance to join him and play with death tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Akira's personal Panic! At the Subway. Yeah? Amirite? Sorry...
> 
> [Feel free to yell at me on tumblr!](http://musicaldefiance.tumblr.com/)


End file.
